Second Best
by WeasleyJunkie
Summary: An angsty first ficlet from Ron's point of view


The shock of seeing her brought all the memories flooding back.  
  
There was always something between them. The whole of Hogwarts knew. Their bickering and fights were just another way to express the deep desire they felt for one another, or so everyone claimed.  
  
Fifth year was a blur for him. He was at the awkward stage in his life when his voice was breaking ever so often and he was thinking about the female race too often enough. Between fighting with her and trying to save Harry from whatever mortal peril hit that year, he didn't really check his emotions until the summer after. It was then that he figured how much he loved her, how much he actually yearned for her. It was that summer that he had come to terms and accepted it.  
  
Hermione had arrived three-weeks earlier than Harry that summer. It was then, when it was just the two of them that he asked her to be his girlfriend, and she had readily accepted, claiming her love for him was just as strong and deep as his. They were only fifteen and sixteen after all.  
  
6th year came, not without their share of public quarrels and displays of affection. Autumn had passed to make way for winter, spending the holidays with his two best friends in the world; he thought the world couldn't make him happier. He should have noticed the differences in her character then, but he was too caught up on his own happiness to notice her emotions, her change.  
  
She had been spending more time in the library than usual, but of course, he "knew" her, so he figured she was trying to ensure her place as Head Girl for the year that was to come. It was rather strange, that Harry, who usually did about the same on tests and essays as he, would suddenly be getting bad marks. He had thought of Hermione as an extremely charitable soul then, for giving up her precious study time and tutoring Harry..alone, in the library in the wee hours of the night.  
  
Of course the world would give him a good kick in the head, just when he had been exclaiming its beauty and joys. He didn't think he'd ever forget that day, hard as he had tried. It had been his birthday after all, he was finally seventeen and of legal age. Ginny had nicked food from the house- elves and had brought it up to the Gryffindor common room, to celebrate his age in its entire splendor. The party had been raging for about an hour, and it was then that he had decided to fetch Harry and Hermione from the library. He figured they had forgotten the time, having been too wrapped up in their studies.  
  
Silent as a mouse, he had entered the library to find it completely deserted. No one was within sight. He had made his way through the stacks when he finally caught sight of them, and, for a second, he thought his heart had actually stopped beating.  
  
They certainly had been too wrapped up, but not in their studies. He supposed he had let out some sort of sound to announce his presence for they broke apart, Hermione's hand still on Harry's neck and they had looked his way with equal dazed, slightly cloudy eyes, only to abruptly clear up and jump a good 5 feet from each other when they noticed who was standing there.  
  
Even as he thought about it, he didn't think he would ever be able to put his feeling into words. They were his two BEST friends. She had been his girlfriend, he couldn't live without her, he had been his best mate, he would have died for Harry.  
  
They had tried to explain something to him. There was nothing to explain, but he had let them ramble on, nonetheless. Hermione has tears streaming down her cheeks, muttering apologies and trying to get a coherent sentence in. Harry had also been apologizing, wanting to "talk things over" and other nonsense-like things.  
  
There had probably been too many emotions in him to have one actually go through and show. He was blank, nothing could explain the hate, anger, disappointment and heartbreak he was in. It was when Hermione had tried to touch him that he flinched and had finally spoken to them.  
  
Afraid he would do something unreasonable, he had tried to express to them, in as little words as possible, his sentiments. "I will have nothing to do with either of you. You are not my friends" had come from his mouth before he had turned and ran out the castle.  
  
He had run like no other, trying to find a place for solace and comfort. Out the Hogwarts gates he thought of Hagrid's, but decided the half-giant favored Harry too much and had turned instead to the forbidden forest. He didn't remember much after that, he had been roaming in circles and had decided to rest, trying not to think, when he felt the warm glow of the sun hitting his cheek as he found himself leaning on a tree in the outskirts of the forest. He had slowly made his way to the castle, dreading what was to come.  
  
He had made his way up to the common room to find no one there but Ginny, whose look finally broke him. He had cried on her shoulder, something he hadn't done since they were children, for what seemed like hours. She was crying as well, holding him close and stroking his hair, whispering comforting words into his ear, trying to soothe the pain away as best as she could. Ginny had demanded Harry tell her where and why he had run off too, earning Harry a good slap and more than a few foul words from her when he had told her the truth. They weren't disturbed; and that morning they had both cried out their sorrows.  
  
He had nothing to do with them. In classes he would sit with Dean and Seamus or Parvati and Lavender, partnering up with anyone but them. They had all been very friendly towards him, which made things a lot easier. In Quidditch, he would not make eye contact or talk to Harry, preferring to focus on the game, as he said. It was during that year that he learned that making acquaintances was easy. He couldn't consider any of the new people he met friends, as both of his closest had betrayed him, but he had learned to be more amiable and wasn't as alone. Everyone in school knew what had happened and all of them, even Slytherin, respected him for keeping his chin up.  
  
Harry and Hermione had tried to talk to him an innumerable amount of times, with no luck. Towards the end of the year he was able to converse with both of them politely, feeling pity for the fist time towards them. They had no friends: The-Boy-Who-Lived and the smartest witch in the year would not be spoken to by the rest of their schoolmates and their relationship was deteriorating. It was only at the end of the year that he was able to forgive, after Harry had almost been killed by Peter, and his relationship with Potter had started up again. He could forgive, but never forget.  
  
Seventh year had brought upon a new status for him: Head Boy. After the fiasco, he had taken to doing most of his work and had showed a great improvement to his already more-than-decent grades, so it was to no surprise that he would be awarded the title. This also made him interact with Hermione more, which was hard for him, but he had managed. It was a bit pathetic, really, how Hermione really was. Harry had had a late-growth spur that summer and was now being recognized not only as The-Boy-Who-Lived but also for his good looks. They were still together, on-and-off, and he had found it somewhat amusing how paranoid and jealous Hermione was (she had had every right to be jealous, as everyone knew Harry was fooling around with a Hufflepuff AND a Ravenclaw, but he wanted her to feel the same way he had and said nothing)  
  
That was also the year where Harry would have his final battle against Voldermort. Seconds before his death and his defeat, Harry had grabbed his hand and told him how much his friendship had meant to him, and that there was no one in the world he loved more, to which he had reciprocated to Harry before Harry had stabbed himself and died for the world.  
  
He didn't know why it was easier for him to forgive Harry than it was Hermione, he just had. Their relationship was never perfect, but it fit. Harry was his family and he guessed that meant more to him that just a girl, no matter how much he actually loved her. Because he did; love her, that is. He knew he loved her with everything in him, but she had thrown that away. SHE had never loved him, and that fact that she had claimed to do so hurt him more than her having never proclaimed her deep love for him. Harry hadn't loved Hermione, having broken up with her twelve times before telling her about all of his little escapades with other girls, leaving her with neither Harry or himself to lean upon.  
  
He had mourned the loss of his friend, but he knew Harry was with his family now, which lessened the pain. He had wanted nothing to do with Hermione and hadn't replied to any of her letters after Hogwarts had ended. He had taken a job at The Daily Prophet and had been working there for a year now, with no contact from Hermione, which was why it was such a big shock for him to see her walking up towards The Burrow and himself.  
  
"Wait!" she called out, as he turned away from her with all intention of not confronting her. And so, he had. He waited for her to make her way towards him and when she was face to face with him, he waited for her to speak.  
  
She wasn't the same. She had lost weight, which made her seem sickly. Her skin was not only pale, but had taken a yellow hue to it, making her look worse. Her hair, so wild and unruly before, was without its shine and bounce.  
  
"I miss you" was all she said, waiting for a reply. He looked into her dark eyes but could no longer read them. A completely different person was in front of him. The Hermione he loved had died the night of his 17th birthday, the image that he had of her was never going to come back.  
  
"Harry" was all he had whispered, not exactly knowing what he meant yet knowing exactly what he did mean.  
  
"He was Harry Potter, you know? He was The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was the hero, the star. But he's gone now, we can start over. WE can start over TOGETHER. I love you, I always have, but he was HARRY, how could I say no? HOW?"  
  
So, he did the only thing he could think of. He shook his head at her and half-smiled, turned around and left her standing there, a quizzical look on her face. He was better than this.  
  
Ron Weasley would never be second-best. 


End file.
